Round and Round We Go
by Elizabeth5
Summary: Sansa, Robb, and Jon escape from the powerful Lannister mob family and go on the run with a traveling carnival but soon learn that the past isn't an easy thing to leave behind.
1. Chapter 1

Round and Round We Go

**FIC: **Round and Round We Go (1/?)

by Elizabeth5

**Pairings: **Robb/Sansa, Jon/Sansa

**Rating: **T, maybe eventually more.

**Triggers: **Some allusions to abuse.

**Summary: **Sansa, Robb, and Jon escape from the powerful Lannister mob family and go on the run with a traveling carnival but soon learn that the past isn't an easy thing to leave behind.

**Author's Note: **This is kind of a dark fic, y'all. You have been warned. Also, I did little to no research, so I'm sure the history aspects of this are pretty atrocious.

Sansa's focus was startled from her porridge as something was set on the table in front of her. Squinting, she looked up to see Harry beaming down at her, handsome features backlit by the sun. "Go on," he urged, "open it."

He was a brave fool, she'd give him that much. It was only a matter of time before one of her brothers got wind of his attentions; if he was very lucky, it would be Jon, whose bark was much softer and who was far less inclined to bite.

Sansa had thought the girl inside her long dead, murdered at the hands of the Lannisters, but sometimes she popped up again at the most unexpected moments. Blushing—she, who had seen everything, and done worse—she obligingly reached forward and undid the wax paper.

It was a lemon cake—small, crusting at the edges, but a lemon cake nonetheless. Sansa looked up at Harry with wordless surprise, wondering how he'd managed to obtain it in this sprawling wasteland of dried-up cornfields they'd been traveling across. Wondering even more how he even knew it was something she'd want.

She must not have been as good at schooling her features as she once was, for Harry's eyes twinkled at her, pleased at whatever reaction she'd unwittingly given. He leaned in, resting one forearm against the table so they were nearly eye to eye. "Come driving with me tonight."

Sansa honestly didn't know what she would have answered. Before she could even think to let the words form on her lips, a thick hush fell over the tables, and she knew without looking that one of her brothers had arrived.

_Jon_, she prayed silently. He would not be pleased, but he wouldn't be unkind, either.

It was Robb. His eyes were pale blue steel as he looked Harry over. Sansa's would-be-suitor straightened, refusing to cow away, and her brother smirked a little at this, though his gaze was hard as stone.

"Sister," he chided her, "what have I told you about feeding strays?"

Harry's chin raised a fraction of an inch. "My intentions toward your sister are honorable, if that's what you're worried about." He motioned to the picnic tables full of people around them, all eagerly listening in as the little drama unfolded and not bothering to hide it. "With all the good folks here as my witness, I aim to be a perfect gentlemen. Flowers. Holding hands on the Ferris wheel. And marriage someday, if she'll have me."

Sansa's heart caught in her throat, throbbing as Harry's gaze met her own. Where was this boy three years ago, back when she'd still believed in knights in shining armor? If she was being honest, a part of her longed for it still, but in a distant, nostalgic way, like wishing she could still believe in St. Nicholas or faeries.

Now Robb's gaze was on her, too, carefully blank as he waited for her response, though she could feel his heavy anticipation. Starks stuck together, after all. It was the three of them now, all that they had left.

Swallowing, she looked down at her boots, conceding defeat.

"Sorry, Harry." Robb's voice was borderline gloating. "Looks like you'll be holding hands with yourself. 'Least we saved you the cost of the flowers."

She thought that would be the end of it, but all at once, fingers grazed through the strands of her darkened hair. Surprised, Sansa looked up to see Harry looking down on her with a sad, soft smile. "Find me when you're ready to stop being afraid, Alayne."

In an instant, Robb had him by the shirtfront, hauling him away. Harry had a good few inches on her brother, but none of the ferocity and anger that the years had imposed on him. Still, his hands balled into fists, ready to defend himself, and Sansa knew there would be blood on both sides.

"Robb!" She gripped him by the arm, just above his wrist, where she could feel his pulse pounding through the skin. His eyes, too, were blazing, chest heaving, but at her touch, he stilled. She could see him checking his impulse to look at her again, instead releasing Harry and stepping back.

Harry stormed out of the yard as everyone watched on, including the two Starks. A long, weighted moment of silence followed, during which Sansa all at once remembered her fingers, still clutching Robb's wrist.

She released him and he stepped away, hand clenching and unclenching at his side before he shoved it into his pocket.

#

Robb was the one to bring her Joffrey Baratheon's head—a bloody, symmetrical poem.

Jon was the one to listen as she explained, in detail, what the Lannisters had done to her and vow that he would never let anyone harm her again.

She needed them both, you see, in different ways. Robb to be her warrior, and Jon to be her hero.

She thought, sometimes, that this was what no one could truly understand.

#

Back in the days when things were still simple, Robb was a police officer, set to follow in the footsteps of their father, the Commissioner. That was before Ned Stark tried to shut down the thriving Lannister moonshine ring—the only cop not on their payroll in West Eros, and thus the one who mysteriously disappeared around the same time he'd had the gall to arrest Jaime Lannister. When Robb had gone against the advisement of his supervisors and tried to look into the case, he'd wound up with a slit throat and was left for dead, along with his pretty new wife and their baby boy.

But the Young Wolf, as he'd come to be known in the squad, had more bite to him than the Lannisters had anticipated, even as a ghost. He'd managed to mow down Joffrey and Tywin and probably would have gone for more if Jon hadn't finally persuaded him that they needed to run.

Sansa thought sometimes that he'd gone after the Lannisters with the intention of dying. In most ways that counted, he was a dead man already. But when he'd learned she was still alive, that seemed to reach whatever part of her brother that still lived on.

"For Sansa," Jon urged him. "We'll keep her safe, the two of us. Together."

It was too big a responsibility, she believed, to be the only reason another person decided to go on living. Sometimes she thought Robb resented her for it. Sometimes she could feel him watching her and knew he was wishing she'd died along with the others so that he could have followed after with no regrets to hold him back.

#

Jon probably would have been swept up into the bloodbath earlier if it hadn't been for his faith. Just before Ned disappeared into the ether, never to be found again, he'd taken his vows as a priest. There weren't many other options for the bastard sons of Good Pillars of Society, and anyway, Sansa believed he'd always felt the need to atone for something, even before the rest of them truly learned the taste of regret. For the strain his presence always caused between Catelyn and Ned, perhaps, or maybe for his very existence.

He was not the sort to take vows lightly. The Church was supposed to come first in his life, before his family, before any blood feuds. She understood why it had taken him so long to come for her, but she knew he felt guilty for it all the same. She thought that was why he had become so kind to her now. Not that Jon had ever been unkind—cruelty was not something in his makeup—but she had never been a favorite of his. Robb was his best friend, Arya his kindred spirit, Bran and Rickon his shadows. And she? Had no place in his world, not really. But you would never know that now, with him always at her side, making sure she had everything she needed before she even knew she needed it.

It wasn't until the Lannisters came after Jon directly, bribing his brothers to turn him over to them, that he was forced into the war. By then it was too late for the rest of the Starks, but the very first thing he'd done once he was free was to come for Sansa. She'd told him before, but she wished she could say it in a way he'd believe it—that seeing him walk into that brothel, knowing he had come to find her, to free her, had absolved him of all the time that came before.

But Jon wasn't one to let go of his guilt so easily. Sometimes she thought it was the thing that drove him. Sometimes she thought it was the only thing keeping him going.

#

Robb finished off the last of Harry's lemon cake, licking his fingers for good measure. "Don't know what you see in that pompous horse's ass," he pronounced after swallowing.

"I don't see anything any him."

Sansa squinted, looking the other way. Sometimes it was worth it to fight with Robb, but increasingly she found it more and more tiring. She didn't understand what she'd done to make him so angry, but lately it felt as though she couldn't do anything right. He blamed her, she thought, for being the one to live. She'd never kidded herself that if either one of her brothers had had the choice, she would have been the sibling picked to survive.

"A girl in every town," Robb went on as if he hadn't heard her. "That's what they say about good ol' Harry."

Worse had been said of Robb, Sansa could easily point out. Hired on as barker for the carousel, he used it to his full advantage, flirting his way through each evening with reckless abandon. He was so handsome, after all—even with that long, jagged scar on his neck that his beard was not quite thick enough to hide—and charming enough that the girls came lining up just for a chance to touch his hand as he helped them onto their horse of choice.

No, there was never any shortage of girls. Sansa wondered sometimes that they didn't see how dead his eyes were behind his smile, couldn't smell the low-simmering anger always boiling just underneath the surface.

A sharp, high whistle echoed across the dirt path, interrupting her train of thought. Sansa looked up, quick enough to catch Robb's start of surprise, then the way he ducked his head as he realized their route had taken them past the cooch tent. The girls lined up outside, shameless in their barely-there costumes and gaudy makeup, all of them sizing up the oldest Stark with an appreciation that was not nearly so disconcerting as was their familiarity.

Robb flushed all the way up to his scar as his hand found the small of Sansa's back, guiding her past as quickly as he could. It was as though he thought _she_ was in need of protection, though he was clearly the focus of all the ribald attention.

"Oooh, Robbie," one particularly bold girl called out after them, her breasts practically toppling out of her too-tight, too-sheer slip, "gonna come and visit us again tonight?"

Robb pretended not to notice, so Sansa followed suit, though of course, _of course_ she knew that was where he disappeared to at night (and sometimes, more and more frequently, during the day).

"You're the only one that can keep us up all night," another piped up, causing the rest to cackle, "and we're happy to return the favor!"

At this, Sansa blushed bright pink, and it was Robb's turn to pretend he didn't notice. Sansa Stark was raised to be a good girl, a debutante, who would scarcely know how to kiss before marriage. Of course, that was before she was passed from Lannister to Lannister, then on to Petyr Baelish once they were through with her.

It was a game they both played, she supposed; that he didn't know the girls, and that she didn't know what they were referencing. Easier for both of them, probably, to pretend.

"Not so high and mighty when your girl isn't around," another woman muttered loud enough for them to hear, and none of them were laughing now. Sansa could feel their glares cutting into the back of her like daggers.

It was only then that she realized what had been niggling her as being so strange. Not the girls calling after them, or Robb's embarrassment, but his hand on her back. When they were children, he had pulled her hair and tripped her and put his arm around her shoulders and all the other ways brothers showed their love. But now… he never touched her, if he could help it.

As if he'd come to the same realization at the same moment, Robb dropped his hand back down to his side. Or perhaps it was only because they'd rounded the corner and were no longer in sight of the girls. Either way, Sansa's heart gave a painful little twitch that she did her best to ignore.

Silly, she thought, that she could miss someone so much when he was standing right beside her.

#

As always, Jon's presence was the perfect balm to smooth out the rough, jagged edges that seemed to have irreparably formed between her and Robb. He had as much reason to be as angry as any of them, Sansa supposed; his brothers in the faith had betrayed him, as good as trussed him up and left him out for the Lannisters to devour. But his bitterness was turned inward, never outward, and so well-concealed that she doubted many noticed it.

He was reading as they entered the tent. Sansa didn't know how he managed with how little they were paid and how often they moved around, but somehow Jon always seemed to be in possession of a different book every time she saw him. And he didn't discriminate by topic either. She'd seen him reading tattered dime westerns, histories, biographies, even a romance or two. Anything to stoke the fire that was his inner, private world. Sometimes Sansa wished she could crawl inside his mind and live there, she was so certain it was a place of warmth and wisdom and kindness.

"Doc Tarly's looking for you," Robb informed their bastard brother as he bumped Jon's feet off the cot with his own legs. "Said the tiger has gout, or something."

Jon worked with the animals in the menagerie. He had a knack with them, a gentleness that calmed even the most savage of the beasts. One of the wild dogs had even taken to following him around like his shadow—Ghost, he was called. He reminded Sansa of a dog she had back at home, before Joffrey'd had her killed just so she would have to watch. Sometimes when she got her own work done early, she'd go help Jon feed the elephants or brush the horses. Ghost had taken to following her around on occasion, too, which used to frighten her, but now had become as soothing as if she had an extension of Jon with her always. There was nothing to fear, after all, in a world where Jon was at her side.

"I'll come with you," Sansa offered. It would be better than being cooped up in the tent with Robb—or worse, watching him comb out his hair and dab on cologne and knowing he was running off to meet some girl.

She and Jon set off companionably toward the menagerie, this time giving wide berth to the cooch tent. For many reasons, this was for the better. Though it might have been amusing to watch Jon blush and squirm at the things they called out—he had always seemed to prove all the more irresistible to that lot for the mutual knowledge that he would never be the Stark brother to succumb to their charms—Sansa knew the cooch girls were something of a sore spot for Jon when it came to her. The first and only time she'd seen him lose his temper was when someone had suggested she'd make a nice addition to the lineup. The next instant, Jon had him by the throat and was promising to slit him from navel to throat if he ever hinted at such a thing again. The man was lucky Robb never got wind of it, or else it might have been more than threat.

It wasn't just her honor at stake that made the boys so protective. It was knowing what the Lannisters had put her through. Sansa understood that, yet sometimes she couldn't help but resent feeling so coddled. She made sure to put herself to good use around the carnival—doing the wash-up, helping with the cooking, watching the children, tending to anyone who was ill, mending costumes, and everything else that needed doing—but sometimes she felt so inadequate. Everyone else had their role here, their defined place. She was just a specter, floating from one thing to the next.

As if on cue, Ghost appeared along the trail, following closely at Sansa's heels. She smiled, reaching back to scratch at the scruff between his ears. "Hello, boy."

Glancing back, Jon noticed and shook his head. "Traitor," he muttered at the white-haired beast, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

At last they reached the menagerie. True to Robb's word, Doc Tarly was waiting for them, as usual sweating through his shirt collar, though his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He was an endearingly nervous man, one of the brightest that Sansa had ever met, though he scarcely seemed to believe it despite the framed degree she'd seen hanging in his tent.

"Roland's got distemper," he said, wiping at his forehead with the back of his forearm. "We'll have to give him a shot. I doubt he'll be very happy about it."

Jon gamely shrugged off his vest and moved to roll up his shirtsleeves, revealing his lean, muscled arms and hands. Artist's hands, Sansa had always privately thought, though to her knowledge Jon had never been particularly creatively inclined. She watched for a moment, then looked away.

"On second thought, I'll leave you boys to it." She gave Ghost one long last, good scratch before straightening again. "I'm going to check on the performers, see how everyone's costumes are holding up."

Jon offered his slow, crooked smile, all the more charming for its rarity. "You don't want to help me pin down a tiger?"

"Tempting." Sansa smiled as she backed toward the tent flap. "But I'd rather keep all my limbs, thank you."

Outside, she took in a deep breath of the dusty, summer air, squinting against the nearly setting sun. The evening shows would be starting soon, and everyone was scurrying about in preparation, their steps filled with purpose.

_Helping people is a purpose, _Sansa reminded the dark voice in her head that nagged she was the only one around here who was a dead weight, the only one without an act or a costume or a place in the menagerie.

(_"Too much exposure," Robb had argued when she'd broached the subject of putting together an act of her own, but she'd heard the underlying accusation in his words. That she wasn't strong enough. And it had been a relief, in the end, hadn't it? To get to slip into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen.)_

Taking in a bracing breath, she turned toward the pavilion, determined to find something to do with herself, when her eyes caught on a tall, golden head, gleaming in the sunlight.

She froze in place, heart lurching to a complete stop before it once again picked up a jagged pace. She took in the sleek jaw, the pale eyes, and she could feel the press of his palm into her throat as he told her this time he would really kill her, once and for all.

Joffrey Baratheon. Come to take his revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It wasn't Joffrey. Of course it wasn't Joffrey. Robb had brought her his head, after all—his perfect, poetic justice.

It was Tommen, Sansa realized as he looked past her without seeming to recognize her or even truly take her in. He had only been a boy the last time she saw him, one surprisingly sweet of nature despite his Lannister blood, and their interactions had been almost non-existent. With her darkened hair it was entirely possible he wouldn't know her even if they were to come face-to-face. And even if he had, surely he hadn't come all this way to force her to return to West Eros as she'd feared.

But then, why was he here? Sansa took in his wide eyes, his guileless, curious expression. Was it really possible that he had just happened to stumble across this place—an innocent coincident?

She had half made up her mind to approach him and try her hand at a subtle interrogation when another blonde head joined him in the crowd. Cersei. She looked thinner than Sansa last remembered her, and not in the once fashionable way of the flappers, but gaunt, though her eyes still gleamed with the same lean, mean ferocity.

Sansa stumbled back a few steps, but all other sensible thoughts of action seemed to have fled from her mind. Her thoughts felt jumbled, her palms slick with sweat.

As if drawn to her gaze, Cersei looked up and began to search the crowd. Right when it seemed inevitable that their eyes would meet, all at once Sansa was ushered into a tent, the flap let down to conceal her.

Blinking in dazed surprise, she looked up to see Mademoiselle Margery blocking the entrance, peering out into the diminishing evening light.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," the other girl murmured, offering a concerned albeit curious smile, "but I'm not sure you were ready for the ghost to see you."

Sansa pressed a hand to her chest as though to force her heart to stay in place, swallowing. "Thank you," she whispered. "They can't know I'm here. I…"

But what else could she say that wouldn't give away their secret? She, Robb, and Jon had been living as Alayne, Robert, and Johnny for so long now, and there were so many people who would abuse that knowledge if it were theirs. Including Cersei Lannister, standing not twenty feet away from them at that very moment.

Margery gave her a sidelong glance but didn't press the matter. One of the nice things about a traveling carnival was that Sansa and her brothers weren't the only ones running from something, not by a long shot, and most people were too busy guarding their own skeletons to go snooping through someone else's closet for his.

Instead, the other girl resumed putting on her makeup at her vanity table, offering Sansa a cheeky smile through the glass. "I bet if you asked nice enough, Harry would help you make tracks for a few hours. Pack a picnic, take you to a nice secluded spot. Etcetera."

Despite the impertinence of the words, there was clearly nothing unkind in them. It had been so long since Sansa knew the companionship of a woman that she scarcely knew how to respond.

"Look how she blushes!" Margery laughed. "Well, you can't blame us womenfolk for being a bit catty when you have so many juicy gentlemen at your beck and call, your pip brothers included."

_Brothers_. The word had a sobering effect. Sansa would have to tell them about Tommen and Cersei, right away. "I have to…" She made for the tent flap, pausing to offer a smile. "Thank you. Truly."

Margery's face softened, her mischievousness melting away with a sigh. "Go on now. Scram."

Sansa ran.

By the time she made it to the carousel, the usual horde of girls was gathered around so thick she had to snake her way through them. Stopping at the base of the platform, she put a hand over her eyes and searched for Robb.

A warm hand came to rest on her waist from behind. "Need a hand up, gorgeous?"

Sansa turned, wide-eyed, as she met Robb's gaze. For a long moment, he simply stared, clearly taken aback. From behind, with the sun near set in the evening sky and her hair darkened, she imagined it would be easy to mistake her for a stranger.

His hand dropped down to his side, eyes averting as he stepped away from her. "What are you doing here?"

She swallowed away the sting of his tone, glancing over her shoulder before lowering her voice to a whisper. "Cersei and Tommen. I saw them, here, at the fairgrounds."

Robb did an about-face, all the meanness draining from his eyes. "Where? How long ago?"

Sansa relayed the entire story for him again. "I don't think they saw me," she concluded, "and I don't think they're looking for me. But they're here, now. And if they saw any one of us…"

He was silent for a long moment, deliberating. At last, he stepped in closer to her so as not to be overheard, lips so close that she could feel his words against her skin. "Go get Jon. Head straight back to the tent. Don't stop to talk to anyone else, understand? I'll be back as soon as I can get away."

Stepping back, he brushed past her, all smiles as he approached his waiting female fan club, who had all been shooting Sansa dirty looks this whole while. She took in a deep breath, composing her jittery nerves, before running off to find Jon.

#

"And you're sure they weren't looking for us?" Robb asked for what seemed like the dozenth time.

Sansa suppressed an eye roll, bracing herself against the edge of her cot. "Mostly sure. They seemed to just be here to watch the show, enjoy the fair. It was probably just a coincidence."

Jon, too, was leaning forward on his cot, rubbing his palms across each other, back and forth, back and forth, scarcely seeming aware of it. "I don't like it," he pronounced at long last.

Robb paced a moment longer. "If it really was just a coincidence, all we have to do is lie low for the evening. Tomorrow we'll pack off to a new town, miles from here, and the Lannisters will never be the wiser."

Sansa sagged forward a little, grateful that they were safe, that it would all be resolved so easily… yet strangely disappointed as well. She'd spent so much time being afraid of Cersei Lannister, imagining her as this omniscient goddess who would scour the ends of the earth to find her and take her revenge… but she was only just a mortal, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

She took in a steadying breath, trying to clear the dark thoughts from her mind. "Cards?" she suggested in a tone that almost managed to pass for bright.

Before the word had even finished leaving her mouth, Robb was already halfway out the tent.

"You can't leave," Jon reminded him. "What if Tommen sees you?"

Robb snorted. "Even a Lannister wouldn't take his mother where I'm going."

And with that, he was gone.

#

She and Jon took supper in the tent and spent the rest of the evening playing cards. This was not an unusual routine for them, or at least some variation of it. Sometimes it was cards, sometimes he would read out loud to her from one of his books, and one time she had even persuaded him to dance (though she had been warned that no one was ever to learn about this, and that it would never happen again).

Sansa had thought she was doing a good enough job hiding her still-racing nerves when abruptly Jon reached out, taking her by the wrist and stilling her movements. "You okay?" he asked, dark eyes shining with concern.

There was no point trying to hide anything from Jon, ever. She imagined it had once made him a very good priest, back in the world that was.

She tried to smile, but her lower lip felt wobbly. "He looked so much like Joffrey," she whispered when at last she was able.

Jon traced his thumb over the soft underside of her wrist, his expression solemn. "You know we would never let them hurt you again."

"I know." _But they had_, the ugly voice in Sansa's head reminded her. They'd abandoned her to the sharks.

When she looked back up again, Jon's expression was pained, as if he had somehow read the thoughts she'd always been so careful not to vocalize aloud. It must be difficult, she thought sometimes, to be so compassionate and discerning, to always understand with such perfect clarity what people were feeling.

On impulse, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. For once, it seemed, she had thrown Jon off guard; he looked entirely taken aback. "What was that for?"

"Because I love you," she returned simply, cheeks feeling a bit warm as she returned her attention to her cards. Even after all they'd been through, it wasn't the sort of thing the Starks vocalized often. She didn't know if she'd ever told Jon that before everything that had happened, and certainly never after.

After a moment, she ventured a glance up to find Jon still watching her. At her gaze, it was his turn to bury his face into his cards, though not before she'd caught a glimpse of the burning, probing intensity in his eyes.

Yes, it might be difficult to always understand what other people were thinking. But just as much to never know, and to be forever left wondering.

#

The next morning, Sansa woke early enough that the air was still crisp and cool, unbleached by the heat of the sun. A quick glance at Robb's cot confirmed he hadn't returned back to the tent. Jon was still asleep across the room, one arm slung protectively over his face, as he always slumbered. It was unusual for her to wake before him, but then he'd had a restless night. She'd heard him tossing and turning well into the early hours of the morning as she drifted in and out of sleep.

She rose as soundlessly as she could and dressed. It would be too early for breakfast, but she might be able to help with the tear down and packing. Anything to get them away from this place and as far from the Lannisters as possible.

But as Sansa wandered through the grounds, they were utterly silent, not so much as a peep from any of the neighboring tents. This was unusual at any time, but especially for a traveling day. They should be halfway packed by now and ready to go before morning meal.

"What light through yonder window breaks?"

Sansa turned to see Harry approaching her, hair wet, shirtless, torso still gleaming from his early morning shower. He was as lean and sculpted as his costumes always hinted, and seemed well aware of it as he approached her with his chest jutting outward. She did her best not to glance down at her feet like some shy, blushing maid, though she could feel heat crawling up the back of her neck all the same.

"It's the east," Harry finished as he reached her, stopping a pace away. "And Alayne is the sun."

"Does Shakespeare know you're stealing his prose?" Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Borrowing," Harry corrected. "It seemed fitting. I'm feeling positively star-crossed these days."

His gaze left little room for interpretation as to who was causing him such grief. Sansa gave a rueful smile. There was a time she might have fallen very much in love with this Harry. "Romeo was a fairly fickle lover, as I recall."

"Fickle? He died for love."

"Rosaline might take umbrage with that."

Harry laughed under his breath. "A costume mistress for a traveling carnival who can argue Shakespeare. You aren't what you seem, Alayne."

At that, she looked away, discomfited. "Yes, I am."

He leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat from his still-damp chest. It took everything in her not to reel away from him. He had no way of knowing, of course, how much it still alarmed her to be so near men, any men, sometimes even Robb and Jon. She knew he didn't mean to frighten her, so she clenched her fists to keep from pulling back, though she swallowed, hard. "I think you're a princess in disguise," he whispered.

Over his shoulder, Sansa spotted a figure stumbling toward them. Robb. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked—souvenirs from whatever latest debauchery had taken place. She expected him to look smug and self-satisfied, as he always did when he slunk into the tent in the morning, announcing himself with a bright, gratingly cheerful whistle.

But for that brief, unguarded moment before Robb saw her, there was nothing bright or cheerful in his expression. She had never seen such a picture of unhappiness, of pure and unadulterated self-loathing.

At the sight of them, he stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to register Harry, then Sansa. If there had been anything vulnerable in his expression before it had vanished into the morning air, replaced with something hard and mean.

Sansa ducked her gaze and stepped away from Harry, but too late. Robb's laugh cut across the morning, low and cruel. "Looks like you forgot your shirt, Harry. I'd offer you mine, but I don't know if you'd be able to fit your head through it."

"Alayne doesn't seem to mind."

Robb shrugged. "My sister was raised to be unfailingly polite. No matter how unwanted or unwelcome the attention."

"_You_ certainly seem to pay a lot of attention to your sister. Maybe that's where she got her practice."

"Enough," Sansa spoke up finally, silencing each in turn with a glare. "There's too much work to be done if we're meant to be out of here by mid-morning."

She turned to leave when Harry's voice caught her. "Haven't you heard? We're staying for the week."

Frowning, she looked back, thinking it must be some joke, some continuation of the morning's pissing contest, but Harry's face was completely sincere. Giddy, even. "Some rich family bought us out for the week, hired us to put on a big show for some butter and egg man's birthday party on Sunday."

Sansa felt Robb's gaze on her without even having to look at him. She took in a deep breath to keep her voice light, hoping Harry couldn't see the way her legs were trembling. "Do you remember their name?"

"L something. Lancing, Lancaster…"

Her mouth ran dry. "Lannister?"

"That's the one."

She sagged forward, but Robb caught her by the waist before she could drop, pivoting her about as if she were a naughty young child and he was marching her to time out. "Well, it's been delightful, Harry, but there's only so much hot air a girl can take—isn't that right, Alayne…?"

When they had rounded the corner out of sight, Robb stopped her, putting his hands on either side of her face. "Sansa. Look at me. Look at me."

She hadn't realized she was hyperventilating until that moment. It had been all she could do just to keep walking, step by step. Now she was gasping for breath, too. "They're coming for me, I know it. Robb, they're coming for me…"

"Then they'll have to go through me. And Jon."

Sansa pressed her eyes shut, nodding. Yes. They would keep her safe. Jon and Robb. Her brothers. Her boys. They wouldn't abandon her this time.

All at once, she was in his arms, being held so tightly that breath became a difficulty for an entirely different reason. Her impulse was to scream, claw away, as all of the old memories came flooding back to her. Musky bodies fumbling against her in the dark.

But it was Robb. _Robb_. How many times had she crawled into his bed as a girl, terrified by thunder, and woken with her nose pressed to his neck? She knew that scent. The body might have changed over the years, but underneath it all, his smell was the same. Grass and wind and winter and _home_.

"I'll kill all of them," he vowed to her. "Each and every last one of them, before I ever let them near you again."

Sansa's eyes drifted open once more, and in that moment she knew what she must do.

They were going to kill Tommen Lannister.


End file.
